Anniversary
by clicketykeys
Summary: A Year One (Batman's origin) story


BATMAN: Anniversary

**"Anniversary"**

Written for the Internet by: celeste

Every year it's always the same.

I'm Matty. Today is my tenth wedding anniversary. And I can tell you exactly how it'll go.

My husband will fix _me_ a late breakfast for a change and bring it to me in bed. On the tray will be a pair of red, red roses. "The deeper the rose, the deeper the love," or so the saying goes. They're from the rosebush in our garden. On our first anniversary when he did this, he explained, "There are two unique, individual, perfect roses - one for you and one for me. But although they are separate, they cannot survive without the rosebush that nourishes them both, just like we cannot survive without the love that keeps us together."

Very sweet, don't you think?

After breakfast, we'll take a walk down to a nearby park and have contest to see who can find the most creative way to say "I love you." We'll do kid stuff, like sailing folded paper boats on the lake and playing tag.

By the way, I'm not complaining. Not exactly. I love my husband very much and I enjoy spending time together on our anniversary. It's just so predictable.

At lunch, he'll give me another pearl to add to my string. We'll reminisce about things that happened over the years that we've been together. Today will make eleven beads since he gave me the first pearl the day we were married. Ten pearls and a gold bead for the year our son was born.

Our son... He just started school, and he's SO BRIGHT! Every day he comes home from school and even before giving me a hug hello he greets me with "Hey Mom did you know that..." He has such an inquisitive mind, and he grasps things so easily! And that's not just the proud mother in me speaking... although that may be part of it.

Anyway, in the afternoon we usually play tennis or go shopping. I can never get him to come shopping with me except for this one day out of the year. Men simply can't shop!

Then we go out for dinner in the evening. Usually we go to the traditional anniversary soft-music-and-candlelight restaurant, but every now and then we go someplace a bit out of the ordinary. A couple of years ago we went out for chinese. On our second anniversary we went to McDonald's, got take-out, and went to this campsite that has a gorgeous view of Gotham City.

But today I want to do something different. I don't know exactly what...

* * * * *

"Tom..." We're walking through the park, and I want to tell him now in case he's made any plans for this evening.

"Mmm?" His mind is wandering. But I know he's listening.

"Darling, I was just thinking. What if we did something different this evening? I mean, going out to dinner and all -it's lovely, but I'd like a bit of a change this time." I'm looking at the ground. I know he takes a lot of time to make sure everything is 'just right' and I don't want him to think I don't appreciate what he does and I just-

"Did you have anything in mind, dearest?" He lets go of my hand and puts his arm around my shoulder.

"Well..." I hesitate. I sort of do, but it's kind of silly. More like a date than an anniversary celebration. "I was thinking of going to see a movie."

"Matty..." Oh dear. I knew it was a silly idea, but I really would have liked to go. But then he smiles - that charming grin that lights up his entire face. "What a great idea. I wonder why I didn't think of that before. Do you remember, we went to a movie for our very first date!"

"Oh yes! What was it? _Desert Treasures _ or something like that."

"Yeah..." His eyes cloud over as he remembers that night. "I was so jealous of Sir Akhmed. He was so handsome, and so dashing. I wished I could have captured your attention as well as he did."

"Oh but you did, darling. I married _you_, not _him_. Even if he'd carried me away to darkest Africa, I know you would have rescued me." I trace his jawline with the tip of my finger and he smiles down at me.

"Actually, no." I feel my brows knit together in puzzlement. "I wouldn't have let him carry you away from me in the first place." I laugh and kiss him lightly on the cheek.

He puts his arms around me and holds me close. I rest my head on his shoulder, smelling the sweet scent of his aftershave. I have to be the luckiest woman in the world.

* * * * *

We have lunch at Ivorovitch's Barre & Grille over on Fourth Street. The owner's wife, Nadja, teaches ballet lessons in the old dance hall in the back of the building. Ian and Nadja are first generation immigrants, and Ian's cooking is fantastic, although Tom insists that it's not nearly as good as mine. He's very tactful.

"Matty, would you mind if a third party joined us on our little excursion this evening? I know of someone who's been campaigning for a movie for quite sometime."

"I don't see why not, although that person would have to have an early supper so he could get to bed at a decent hour."

"Aw, come on, Matty. It's a special occasion... please?" He puts on his sweetest "puppy-dog" expression, big blue soulful eyes and all, and I have to give in.

"Oh, all right. But if he's cranky when he wakes up in the morning, _you_ have to deal with him. Got it?" He claps his hands and smiles, and I laugh. It's a good thing our son is so good-natured, or we'd spoil him terribly. Of course, Tom is often at the office until 6:00, so he doesn't get to spend a lot of time with him. That makes "going-out events" like this one extra special.

* * * * *

Tom opens the front door, and the first sound we hear as we enter the house is the patter of little feet coming towards us.

"DaddydaddyDADDY!" He runs right into Tom's arms, shrieking happily. Tom catches him up and swings him around a few times before folding him in a huge bear hug.

"How's my big boy? How's Brucie?" He kisses his forehead and musses his already-unruly black hair.

"I'm great, Dad. Lemme down, I wanna show Mom something." He jumps to the floor and turns around, his chubby face suddenly solemn. He bows slowly yet elegantly. "Good evening, madam. May I take your coat?" He holds his arms out as I take off my coat.

He holds it for a minute, thinking, then runs toward an open doorway. Tom smiles at me as we hear a hushed voice: "What do I do now, Alfred?" A finger points toward a closet near the front door. 

"Oh yeah." Bruce turns around and gracefully walks to the closet, struggles to open it with the coat in his arms, and then gets out a stepstool, using it and stretching all of his three feet four inches to hang my coat on one of the hooks in the closet.

"Oh my God, isn't he precious?" I whisper to Tom. Bruce folds up the stepstool and closes the closet door before rushing over and grabbing my hand.

"How was that, Mom?"

"That was lovely, sweetheart." We smile at each other. He reminds me so much of his father.

"Well, I can see that you're going to be a real charmer when you get around the girls, Brucie."

_"Tom!"_

"Well, he can't help it! It runs in the family." Tom leans down and says in a stage whisper, "You should've seen the moves I put on your mother. She was swept off her feet!" I shake my head.

"As I recall, you were the one who was swept off your feet. What did you blame it on ... an untied shoelace?"

"No. The floor was wet, so I decided to take advantage of the situation and see if I could get a pretty girl to take pity on a 'klutz' like me."

I fold my arms across my chest. "Oh _really?"_

"I was really lucky, too... I ran into the nicest, smartest girl in the whole school." I raise an eyebrow at him. "And best-looking ... I was _getting _ to that!"

"Brucie, you can take a lesson from your father here," I say as I put my arm around Tom. "Flattery will get you anywhere, but you need to learn to tell better fibs than he does."

"Hey," Tom whispers as he wraps his arms around my waist. "I wasn't fibbing, you know. I mean about meeting that special girl."

"Well, I should hope not."

"Did I mention kissable? She's very kissable, too."

"Really?"

"I think so. Let's see..." He bends toward me and our lips touch briefly, gently. "Yup. Definitely kissable."

"Well, you know, that's just because she has a _very_ kissable husband." I raise my face toward his, when I feel an insistent tugging at my knee.

"Come _on,_ you guys. Let's go play outside." Bruce is standing there with his arms folded.

"I don't think so, hon. It's getting kind of late." His face falls, and I quickly continue. "But what would you say to going to see a movie?"

"A movie? SMASHING! I learned that from Alfred too," he explains. He jumps up and down excitedly. "Can we go see _Blackbeard's Revenge?"_

"Not tonight, son." Tom picks him up and sets him on his shoulders. "Your mother already picked out a movie."

"Aw, _man!"_

"We'll go see that some other time."

Bruce sighs. "All right... Hey, does this mean I get to stay up late?"

"Well... " Tom looks at me sheepishly. " ...yes."

"All _RIGHT!"_ He runs around the downstairs, yelling happily.

"Hmmmm. Then there's times I think we have our hands full with just one," murmurs Tom.

"Oh really? Well, sir, you may be a bit late for that."

"WHAT?! You mean... you're... you know..."

I smile at him. "It does happen." His jaw drops even further. "Now, I'm not sure, but I might be."

"Oh." I hope he isn't upset. His eyes light up as a huge grin spreads across his face. I guess he isn't upset. "Dearest, this is great! Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I have no idea!"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Well, let's not tell Brucie until you know for sure. That way he won't get his hopes up and then if it isn't true, you know."

I wink at him. "They also say 'Forewarned is forearmed.'"

He laughs. "Let's go see about that movie, shall we?"

* * * * *

"I still want to see _Blackbeard's Revenge_, mutters Bruce under his breath. "Now don't complain, young man," warns Tom sternly. "You're lucky you get to come see a movie at all. And we'll go see _Blackbeard_ some other time."

"Yes," I add, waving the two roses I'm still carrying mockingly, "you're going to enjoy this movie whether you like it or not!" Bruce laughs, and I can tell he'll have fun this evening. I'm glad. Zorro has always been one of my favorite heroes.

* * * * *

"Well, what did you think?" asks Tom.

"That was great! He really got those bad guys!" I'm certain he wouldn't have liked that Blackbeard movie so much. I'm glad he enjoyed it.

"Son, you have to remember that in real life, sometimes the bad guys get away. That's what the police are for."

"Yeah, but Zorro didn't need the police. He could get them by himself."

"Zorro is what is called a _vigilante,_ Brucie. Most people would think of him as a criminal, too."

"But, Dad, isn't he a good guy?"

"Well, yes, but you see, he acts outside the law. So technically he's also a criminal."

"Oh. So does that make - vigilantes - bad?"

"Well... not in the movies. But in real life something like that would not only be considered illegal, it's also very dangerous."

"Just like playing with guns?"

"Mmm-hmm. Or drinking and driving."

I take each of their hands. "Well, I think it makes for a fun movie to see with two extremely handsome gentlemen."

"Right on, Mom! Where are we going now?"

I sigh and look at Tom. "I know it's late, but... how about dinner?"

"Cool! Where are we going?"

Tom squeezes my hand. "I know of a nice place. Do you like Thai food, Brucie?"

"Uhh... I don't know. Have we had it before?"

"Come on. You'll love it!" He runs ahead and I start to jog to catch up to him. He turns the corner not too far ahead, onto Park Street.

"Hurry up, Brucie. I'll beat you there!"

I don't notice the man in the shadows until he steps out in front of Tom. "Hey, mister, I'm outta work. Do you have a dime for me to call my folks?"

"I'm sorry, I don't give out money, but I'm sure I could help you get a job if you like."

"I don't think you understand me, pal..." By this time I have caught up to Tom. I look over my shoulder, scanning the street behind me to see Bruce. "Darling, I think we lost someone," I whisper into his ear. "Not now," he hisses back.

"...I really need some cash NOW." He reaches inside his too-big canvas jacket and I feel Tom draw in his breath sharply.

_Oh, God._

I clap my hands over my mouth to stifle my scream of terror. We are staring down the barrel of a semiautomatic. I really don't know much about guns, so I have no idea what kind this is, but I DO know that it's REAL.

Tom takes a step towards the man. "Look, sir, we want to help you. Please. You don't have to do this. We just-"

"Now I KNOW you don't understand me, mister. I don't WANT your fuckin' charity."

_Oh God Oh God Oh God..._

"Tom, just... just give him your wallet." My voice quavers.

"GET BACK!" Somewhere in the dim recesses of my consciousness I realize that Tom is not yelling at me but to Bruce, who must have rounded the corner by this point. He is only thinking of his son ...

"Dearest, _please_. Just give him what he wants. I don't want you hurt..."

"Too late, lady." He points the gun slightly left, and...

_**OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod ...**_

...he squeezes the trigger. Once. There is a flash of light and a sharp crack. Tom falls back into me, and I drop my roses, and then he slides down to the sidewalk...

_Noooooooooooo..._

...I lean over Tom and shake him by the shoulders...

_OhGodOhGodOhGod**WHY**..._

...but even I can tell that he's already gone. Something drips onto his forehead. _Has it begun to rain?_ No. God has no pity for his children. These are only **my** tears. I cradle Tom to my chest, and then I look up...

_WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY..._

...and he is SMILING at me. _"How could you?"_ I try to scream, but my voice is strangled in my throat, and so it comes out as nothing more than a choked whisper.

"It's simple, really. You just pull the trigger." He points the barrel of the gun at my forehead and his finger tightens.

_No. You can't do this!_

I leap at him, but I forget about the small, deadly slug that is now headed for me. Only it hits me in the chest instead, knocking me backwards. I feel my necklace torn from my neck...

_Bastard..._

...it must have been hit by the bullet. I feel like I've been speared with some sort of fiery sword and it was left in me. still burning. I land on the ground, hard, but I don't feel the pain from the knee I know I've sprained. I cough, and something salty fills my mouth...

_Noooooooo..._

...and I hear my scream echoing throughout the street, but it puzzles me because I know I am too weak to do anything more than pull myself to my husband's side and rest my head on his stomach. I'm so tired...

_**Nooooooo...**_

...and my arms and legs are so heavy. It's harder to breathe now. I turn my face from that ghastly grin hovering over me...

_Noooo..._

...and I see something even more horrifying. _Dear God, why did he have to see this?_ As I feel myself relaxing, I can barely whisper, "Oh, Brucie, I'm sorry... so sorry..."

* * * * *

I remember turning the corner, hearing my father yell, "GET BACK." Mother was scared. She kept pulling at Dad's arm. I couldn't tell what she was saying.

Then the man in front of them shot Dad. He just sort of ... wilted. He fell against Mother, and then slid to the ground. The roses Mother had been carrying hit the ground before he did.

Mother knelt down beside Dad. She held his head in her arms, and I could see the blood flowing from the wound in his back. Now I know that he must have been shot in the heart and that he probably died right away.

But I didn't know that then. I only remember the blood pouring out of him ... the dark red staining the sidewalk, the red, red liquid matching the red, red roses...

And then Mother started to stand up, and the man with the gun shot her too. She was smaller than Dad, and the force knocked her backwards. Her pearls flew everywhere. They shone for a moment in the glow of the streetlight, and then I could only hear the pittering of them bouncing on the pavement as they scattered.

Then the only thing I heard was a terrified, anguished scream. It took awhile before I realized _I was the one screaming._

Mother was still alive, but barely. She pulled herself over by Dad's side and lay her head on his chest. The last thing she did was look at me and say something. I wish I knew what she said.

_Mother, Dad... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry....._

Something drips onto the pavement. I look to the sky, but the night is clear. No. These are only **my** tears.

I kneel down and place the two red, red roses on the sidewalk. I sigh and stand up, walking back to the shadows again.

Every year it is the same...

* * * * *

  


  


**NOTE FROM NIGHTWING:** As I'm writing this, I've just finished reading the story. I know that Celeste, the consumate writer, doesn't like baseless praise (hey, I know how she feels), but hopefully this isn't without foundation. I _loved_ this story. Honestly, I _**loved**_ it! I'm not exaggerating when I say that, of all the recounts of Batman's origin (the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne), including those I've written, this one is my favorite. This story, unlike the others, tells the story of the beginning of Batman without focusing on Bruce Wayne exclusively. This is a powerful story; it shows us just how much was lost when Tom and Matty were murdered. These two people _loved_ each other. They were young; remember, Bruce was only seven when they were murdered. Bruce Wayne was a little boy who adored his parents. Their deaths destroyed him because he loved these two people more than anyone else in all the world. As always, you can [Send a note to the author][1], and tell her what you think.

   [1]: mailto:celeste@titania.scri.fsu.edu



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